Strangers in Paradise: You May Be Right
by ofperkins
Summary: After their return home through the Star Fissure, four friends have ten years of comparative peace before their unexpected return to the hectic D'ni universes. But just how do you spend ten years of relative peace after returning from a world like Riven? Moderate suggestive themes.
1. Paper

**1 – Paper: January 2018**

Jordan climbed out of the mouth of the old volcano and brushed the dust from his clothes. The dagger was in there, sure enough, but as it was wedged a solid two feet into the rock-hard earth of the volcano he had decided against trying to move it. (Plus, it was twelve feet tall.)

Rachel came over to him with a large lump of Rivenese rock in one hand. "Any luck?"

"Well, it's definitely in there," replied Jordan, "but it's not going to move any time soon." He glanced at his newly-repaired watch. "Should we call it a day? It'll be dark soon, and I think I've still got some champagne left over from last night."

It was a few weeks since their return from Riven, but the various bits of detritus drawn into the Star Fissure on Riven were still not finished. Every now and again, Jordan and Rachel would be sitting in the front room looking out over the desert, or off walking around the dunes, and they would see a bit of rock or something larger drop into the sand, seemingly out of nowhere. Mostly what they picked up were bits of rock, but every now and again something rather more interesting showed up. Not more than a week ago, they had been out walking and an ornately-patterned beetle had almost hit Rachel in the head. Jordan had recognised it as one of those from the Gate Room, and he kept it.

As the two of them turned to return to the house, they heard a whistle followed by a thud as something else dropped out of the sky, landing near the telescope, which they had also been unable to move. It was white, as if it had been bleached, and when they walked over to it they discovered it was a skeleton of some description.

"Looks like some sort of fish," said Rachel. "Like that one in the lake schoolroom game."

"It probably is," replied Jordan. "Gehn used to feed people who he didn't like to these fish. He called them wahrks... I suppose that's like a cross between a shark and a whale. I think he'd string them up on the gallows, then he'd sit up on his throne above the village, open the floor of the gallows then -"

"That'll do, Jordan," cut in Rachel, who had begun to turn green.

* * *

Brittany got up from her desk with a groan and looked at the clock on the wall. She had spent the past two weeks frantically clearing the backlog of paper in her in-tray, and she was finally finished. The council here might as well have been completely oblivious to the fact that she hadn't been in for six months, judging by the mountain of paper that had greeted her when she had entered her office.

The phone rang, and Brittany cursed out loud. She was exhausted, and it was half past one in the morning – who could possibly be calling her at this time? She sank back down into her chair and picked up the phone.

"Hello. Yes. Yes. No. What? Don't be ridiculous. Good. Yes. No. I don't know. Because Bill hasn't told me. Yes. No..."

This went on for about five minutes before Brittany was finally able to put the phone down. She couldn't make head or tail of it – most of the phone calls she got were like that. And then, when she did manage to tell people what they wanted to know, they never seemed to end up using it. It was like they called just to annoy her.

The phone rang again. It seemed like it was only thirty seconds later, but since Brittany had managed to fall asleep at her desk, it was actually about half past ten. She woke with a start and grabbed for the phone.

"Hello. Yes, it is. Oh, hi, Jordan. Clearing my in-tray. Yes." She paused as she absorbed what Jordan said next. "They did what?" Another pause. "They held your mail? Six months worth of mail is waiting for you at the Post Office?" Pause. "I'll be there in five minutes." She put the phone down, grabbed her coat from the hook on the back of the door and dashed out, locking the door behind her.

* * *

"You do get a lot of mail, don't you?"

For many people, six months worth of mail really isn't all that much. For Jordan, however, six months worth of mail was a lot. And for Jordan, a lot of mail meant a couple of hundred letters and at least four score packages. After all, the phone lines and wireless signals didn't reach him and Rachel out in the desert, so the post was the only way for people to communicate with him without coming out themselves. This much post wasn't going to fit in his car, so he had had to summon reinforcements. Rachel was visiting her mother, who Jordan guessed at least five dozen of these letters were from, and Maddy had gone to the city for the week, so Jordan had called Brittany.

"Yes," sighed Jordan, "I do get a lot of mail."

They were standing in one of the roomier storerooms of the Post Office. It was Sunday, so the Post Office was closed, but since Jordan worked there he thought that today would be the best day to collect the backlog of mail.

"I think," said Brittany, the planning part of her brain spinning up to speed, "that we should load as much of this into your car as we can, then get out to the volcano and unload it into... uh... have you given any thought to where we're going to put all this?"

"It should fit into the loungeroom."

"The kitchen is bigger, isn't it?"

"Yes, but Rach will cut my head off if I dump a pile of six-month old mail in the kitchen.

"Fair enough. Into the loungeroom, then. Come on... the sooner we start, the sooner we finish."

They managed to fit about half the mail into the car before setting off. Two trips back and forth took three and a half hours, but they finally moved the backlog of mail from the Post Office to the loungeroom. They had piled it in one corner, and Jordan looked at the stack with a slight smile.

"Looks like I get to work today."

Brittany glanced at him. "You don't happen to work in the sorting office, by any chance?"

* * *

Rachel pushed the door open and stopped dead in the doorway, staring at what she saw. Jordan was sitting on the floor in the far corner of the loungeroom, sorting a pile of mail into two smaller piles on the floor in front of him. It was anyone's guess how long he'd been at it, but he was almost finished. He looked up as Rachel entered.

"What -"

"The Post Office," said Jordan with a slight smile, "was nice enough to hold our mail for us."

"No way," said Rachel. Jordan just smiled.

"Hey, I work in the sorting office," he said. "I'm used to doing this sort of stuff... no pun intended." He pointed to the pile on his right, which was significantly larger than the other. "That one's your pile." He picked up an envelope from the large pile and examined it at a glance. "That's the gas bill." He opened the envelope with the letter opener lying on the floor. "This is five weeks overdue... I'd better take care of that."

"That explains why the stove isn't working," replied Rachel, smiling and going into the bedroom.

"So how's your mother?" called Jordan as he continued to sort the letters.

"Almost sick with worry," replied Rachel. "She normally gets the weekly letter from me, and she hasn't had one for six months."

"Understandably worried, then," Jordan said. "By the way, there's a lot of cards and packages here for both of us, and there appears to also be a few letters from later wondering why we didn't reply and say we liked the presents."

"I suppose we'd better take care of that," called Rachel in reply. The water pump hummed as Rachel turned the shower on. Jordan didn't seem to notice, instead just continuing to sort the letters. After ten minutes or so, the pump switched off again and the water stopped. By this time, Jordan had almost finished the sorting. He picked up the last three letters and fanned them out.

"One for Rach..." he muttered, "marked Card Only... one for me from Dad... and another one from Rach's mother. Finished at last."

"Jordan?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you go into the kitchen and get my hairbrush?"

Jordan got to his feet and went into the kitchen. The hairbrush was sitting on the table next to the closed Myst linking book. He picked it up and went into the bedroom.

"Oh, what a day," sighed Rachel as he handed her the brush. "There's a reason I normally write to Mum instead of going to visit her."

"I can tell," replied Jordan, who had his hands on her shoulders. "You're really tense."

"Well," replied Rachel in something between a casual tone and a seductive tone, putting down her brush and turning to face Jordan, "maybe we can do something about that..."


	2. Glass

**2 – Glass: May 2021**

Jordan got out of the car and stared up at the dark desert sky. He never enjoyed working late, but every now and again the sorting office got so full that everyone decided it would be best to put in a few hours overtime and get the backlog of mail cleared out.

He pulled the three letters out of his pocket that he had found in the office addressed to him and Rachel and thumbed through them quickly. One was addressed to Rachel in a handwriting that Jordan didn't recognise, one was addressed to him and appeared to be the gas bill, one was addressed to both of them in handwriting that Jordan recognised as Maddy's. He slit this one open with his thumbnail as he opened the front door and went into the house.

The house was dark when he entered. He didn't turn the light on in the loungeroom, instead moving carefully through the dark room until he reached the sanctuary of the kitchen. He clicked the light on and sank down into the chair, unfolding the letter from Maddy as he did so. He scanned the letter briefly. She was back from her trip to San Francisco, he noted. Nothing else really interesting, except... oh, God, they were in trouble now. Jordan looked at his watch.

"Three days away... that was a near thing," he muttered to himself.

"What was a near thing?" Rachel asked as she entered the kitchen.

Jordan passed her Maddy's letter. "Mop's birthday is in three days, and we nearly forgot about it. She has invited us to – no, sorry, she's instructed us to come to her party. As it's her twenty-first, I expect there will be embarrassing pictures."

"You mean like there were at your twenty-first?" asked Rachel teasingly.

"And yours, Rach. Most of the embarrassing photos from yours came from Mop anyway." He picked up the second letter and slit it open with his thumb as well. "We'll have to go into town tomorrow and find something to give her." He examined the second letter. "And pay the gas bill." He picked up the third letter and passed it to Rachel, relieving her of Maddy's letter.

"Who's this from?" she asked.

"Don't know," he replied. "Unfamiliar handwriting, no return address."

She opened the envelope carefully and slid the letter out. She glanced down it quickly and her eyebrows took hurried refuge in her hair as she saw the signature at the bottom.

"This is from Josh!"

Jordan turned around, genuine surprise on his face. "What's he doing writing to you?"

"Good question, I can barely read his writing," Rachel replied. "Something about the theatre, I think."

"When was the last time you went to the theatre?"

"Last time I was in LA," replied Rachel. "About six years ago."

"How did he know to write to you here, then?" asked Jordan. "Funnily enough, you can't find us in the phone book."

"I think I wrote to him four or five years ago," recalled Rachel, "just after I moved in with you. Here," she passed Jordan the letter, "see if you can read it."

Jordan pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked at the letter. "I see his handwriting isn't much better. Let me see..." He began to read from the letter. "'Dear Rachel, I'm very sorry for not having written for a while.' How long since you last heard from him?"

"Four years," replied Rachel.

"Uh huh. The rest is all pretty boring about how the theatre is going very well and he hopes you and I are well. Ah well, at least he thought to write."

* * *

Three days later, Jordan parked outside Maddy's rather modest house, a short way out of the main town. It was jumping already, almost literally – the sound coming out of the house was making it shake slightly. A fairly large number of coloured lights shone inside the house, but the door was, miraculously, closed, although it was shuddering unhealthily on its hinges.

"Do you think it's safe to go in there?" asked Rachel, sounding more than slightly dubious.

"With Mop running the show?" replied Jordan with a laugh. "Are you kidding? Of course not. But it would be even less safe to decline her invitation."

The two of them pushed the door open and reeled from the sudden blast of light and sound. As soon as they had stepped over the threshold, Maddy appeared as suddenly as if she had just linked in beside them, which she hadn't, and thrust fairly large glasses of some indescribable but obviously strong alcoholic drink into their hands, whilst at the same time relieving them of the bags they had brought in for her. Once she had dragged them over to the drinks table and then vanished off into the crowd after refilling her own drink, Rachel turned to Jordan.

"How does she do it?" she said, raising her voice so that Jordan could hear her. "She's the only person I know who can carry three glasses, at least two bags, some sort of microphone and a phone handset and still have two hands left over."

"I know, it's uncanny, isn't it?" said Brittany, sidling up to them. "I don't know half the people here. More than half, I'd say. But everyone seems to know me."

"You're a councillor, Brittany," replied Jordan. "Of course everyone knows you."

"That's why I don't like big parties like this," sighed Brittany. "I only came in the hope that there'd be embarrassing pictures."

"Mop's twenty-first, I suppose," replied Jordan with a grin, "there'd have to be. We let her pull that on us when we all turned twenty-one, after all."

It was about an hour before the embarrassing pictures appeared. This was long enough for Rachel to risk drinking some of the strange-looking liquid in her glass and discover that they had been right in reasoning that the drink contained a lot of alcohol. Jordan, upon seeing the effect that half a glass had on Rachel, put his glass down casually and resolved to keep away from the drinks table for the remainder of the evening. Half supporting and half restraining Rachel, who had proceeded to down a second glass in one and was now a little more than just tipsy, Jordan turned back to Brittany.

"Don't drink it," he advised. She smiled and nodded.

* * *

The embarrassing pictures appeared at about a quarter past ten, and contained all manner of things, from a two-month-old Maddy to some more recent ones including, Jordan and Brittany were startled to see, one that they recognised as being from Brittany's eighteenth party, which had been thoroughly impromptu and held on Mechanical, with a variety of exotic champagne from Sirrus' stash. Fortunately, everyone else looking at the pictures was too drunk to question the location, which was fortunate because the fortress was clearly visible in the background.

"How did -" Jordan was questioning exactly how that day had been photographed.

"I think it was Maddy," replied Brittany. "My memories are a bit hazy, but I think she must have had her phone with her."

"Did she?" Jordan was genuinely surprised.

* * *

Although originally they had resolved to stay until midnight, when Rachel consumed a fourth – or maybe fifth, Jordan had lost count – glass of the potent alcoholic liquid and began to attempt to seduce the door frame, Jordan and Brittany decided that they had better leave before Rachel did something very stupid. With a hurried goodnight to Maddy, Jordan and Brittany managed to force Rachel through the door and into Jordan's car before she removed any further items of clothing.

"Thanks, Brittany," sighed Jordan, throwing Rachel's jacket and shirt on top of her. Rachel was already starting to lose the sudden rush of energy that the drink had given her, and was starting to lose the desire to become a stripper and gain the desire to sleep for a very long time.

"Not a problem, Jordan," smiled Brittany. "I'll pop out tomorrow and make sure she's all right, if you like."

"That would be very helpful, Brittany," replied Jordan. "The boss wouldn't give me two days off. Plus, tomorrow's Friday, and Friday is always busy."

"Do you want me to follow you out now and give you a hand now?"

"No, I should be right." Jordan glanced back into the car. Rachel had, by this point, passed out. "Thanks again."

* * *

Rachel blinked. Her head was pounding and she felt dizzy, even lying down. Ugh, there was a horrible taste in her mouth. Her brain, which was currently running very slowly and groggily, struggled to remember the answers to the questions being posed to it.

Where am I? Rachel flicked her eyes around the room. She was at home, in the bedroom. The sun shone brightly outside, but his rays didn't reach her through the closed curtains.

What happened? Rachel tried to remember what happened last night. Oh yes, Maddy's party. The very strong drink... She could remember that much, but everything after that was a complete blur.

Slowly, Rachel managed to answer most of her own questions, but there was one that remained – why am I not wearing a shirt? I definitely had one on when I went in. And a jacket.

She managed to sit up. Her jacket and shirt were hanging on the back of the chair at her desk. Still dizzy, she got to her feet and pulled on a clean shirt, then staggered out into the loungeroom. It was empty, but she could smell coffee – fresh coffee. She walked slowly and carefully over to the kitchen. Brittany was sitting at the table, a steaming mug in one hand and the morning _Times_ in the other. She looked up as Rachel came in.

"Morning, Rach. Coffee?"

"Please." Rachel sank down into a chair, however as it was the wrong one of the three she was currently seeing, she collapsed on the floor. Brittany, smiling and shaking her head, came over and helped her into the chair that she had missed, then pushed a second mug into her hand.

"How much did I drink last night?" Rachel took a sip of the beautifully rich coffee and felt a bit better, but still groggy. Brittany was renowned as being able to brew amazing coffee, and it was rumoured to have some miracle-working properties.

"Four or five glasses of that stuff," replied Brittany. "I think even Maddy was surprised at what that did to you, and she drank a similar amount herself."

"Ugh," was all Rachel could manage in response to that. It was a moment before she worked out the next thing to say. "Where's Jordan?"

"Presumably at the Post Office," replied Brittany, downing the rest of her coffee. "Apparently his boss wouldn't let him take today off. He was gone when I got here."

Rachel was about to say something, but the coffee must have suddenly triggered some sort of reaction with the residual alcohol in her stomach, because she retched loudly instead. In one movement, Brittany whipped a largish bucket out from under the table and held it out to Rachel, who promptly proceeded to throw up into it.

"That does sometimes happen," said Brittany conversationally, "but I bet you feel better now."

She's right, Rachel realised, I do feel better. She drank a bit more coffee to get rid of the disgusting aftertaste.

"Here's your mail, by the way," added Brittany, and pushed a single letter across the table to Rachel. She picked it up and recognised the handwriting immediately.

"Ah, the weekly letter from Mum. I'd better wait until I'm completely sober before I reply. I swear, if I'm not, she'll be able to smell the alcohol on the back of the stamp, where I've licked it, and then I get an eyeful when the next letter comes."

Brittany laughed. "Well, good luck with that, but I've gotta go. I've gotta be at the chambers by half past two. I'll come back at about six for dinner, if you like."

"Yeah, my brain should be straightened out enough to make some sort of dinner."

"In other words, you take it out of the freezer, put it in the oven, and it's ready when the smoke alarm goes off?"

"Just about."


	3. Sapphire

**3 – Sapphire: April 2024**

Jordan couldn't concentrate on the sorting today. He had other things on his mind. He'd been saving for this moment for a very long time, but now that he was close, he was nervous. He'd put out the order for certain... necessities, and they were ready to pick up, but that just made him even more nervous. He was optimistic, but this could turn out to be a disaster.

"Are you all right, Jordan?"

"Hmm?" Jordan came suddenly out of his trance. The other sorting staff were looking at him strangely.

"You were talking to yourself. Quite loudly, actually," said Lyn, who appeared to be the only one in the office capable of speech at the moment. "Something about a disaster."

Jordan hadn't told anyone about this, not even Maddy or Brittany, and especially not the other sorting staff. He was too nervous that something might go wrong.

"Sorry. I've just... got a lot on my mind."

"Like what?" This was from Trevor.

The clock on the wall chimed half past the hour, and Jordan looked up at it. It was five-thirty.

"I'll tell you later. I've gotta go." Jordan flicked the letter in his hand onto the appropriate pile, grabbed his coat and dashed out the door before anyone had time to say anything else. The sorting staff looked at one another in bewilderment. The Postal Inspector poked his head in the door.

"What was that all about?"

"Dunno, boss," replied Trevor. "Something about a disaster. Then he ran out when the clock chimed. Got a bag here for the city."

"Ah well," said the Postal Inspector, taking the bag, "I expect we'll find out soon enough."

* * *

Jordan glanced at his watch as he pulled up outside Spencer & James. It was five minutes to six, and there was nobody else around. He jumped out of his car and darted into the store. The small bell over the door tinkled quietly as he entered, and Mr Spencer turned from the shelves to look over at the door.

"Ah, Jordan," he smiled, "I thought you might be along sooner rather than later."

Jordan hadn't told Mr Spencer what his order was for, but Mr Spencer was a sharp man, and had almost certainly worked it out for himself.

"Good evening, Mr Spencer," Jordan said, giving Mr Spencer a forced smile to hide his own nervousness. "Do you have my order?"

"Yes, we finished it this morning," replied Mr Spencer. He turned and poked around on the shelves. "At least, I think we did... Hang on a minute, Jordan." He opened the door to the back room. "Mr James, did we finish Jordan's order today?"

"What? Oh! Yes, indeed," replied the voice of Mr James. "It's in here."

Mr James emerged from the back room holding a small black velvet box. "And very nice it is indeed. I trust you will be happy with it?"

Jordan took the box from Mr James and opened it. "This is a work of art, Mr James. It's beautiful," he said, with the first genuine smile he'd given all day. "You will take a cheque?"

Jordan scribbled his signature on the cheque and handed it to Mr Spencer. Pocketing the box, he shook hands with Mr Spencer and Mr James, then hurried out of the store. Mr James leaned over to Mr Spencer.

"A work of art, indeed. One of the most beautiful pieces I've ever made." He paused. "Do you think -"

"Oh yes, Mr James. I suspect so." Mr Spencer smiled. "And I expect we'll know all about it very soon."

* * *

Jordan pulled into the volcano compound at about half past six. The sky was deepening to a dark shade of red. He touched his jacket pocket, where the small box from Spencer & James still lay. Jordan was starting to get nervous now, but now was exactly the wrong time for him to be getting nervous. He approached the front door, but paused with his hand on the handle. He took a breath, steadying himself.

"Why," he muttered to himself, "are you so nervous?"

_Because,_ answered that horrible little voice at the back of his mind who always cut in at times like this, _this is the biggest moment of your life, and you know that you might just screw it up. And then what would you do? What would you do if you screwed it up, Jordan?_

"I don't know," replied Jordan in the same muttered undertone. "Now you keep out of this."

_Ah now, Jordan, be nice,_ the voice said, sounding as sweet as sugar. _I'm only doing my job, you know._

"And your job is to make me feel very, very nervous, is it? That's not much of a job."

_Says a man who puts letters in big piles all day for a living. Remember, a bit of nervousness will do you good right now._

"Go away. I am trying to make or break my life here."

_Oh, very well then. I can see that you are nervous enough._

"Thank you for that." Jordan took another breath, then pushed the door open. Rachel was sitting on the couch, reading the paper. She looked up as he entered.

"You're early tonight. Were the letters behaving themselves, were they?"

"In a manner of speaking," replied Jordan, forcing himself to smile. Remember, a certain amount of nervousness is good at times like this. The voice was right about that. "How's your mother?"

"Don't ask."

"I won't." He sat down next to her. "Rach..."

Rachel looked up from the paper. Okay, she's listening, at least in part. Can't dive straight in, because I'll choke. Gotta ease myself in here.

"How long have we been together for?"

"Almost..." Rachel paused briefly. "Almost ten years. Why?" She put the paper down.

Okay, now I've got her full attention. Careful, now...

"And when did we move here together?"

"Uh... nearly eight and a half years ago, when we left high school. Why?" She turned to face him.

All right, fine. This is it. He steadied himself.

"I wanted to ask you something."

"Yeah?"

Jordan reached almost silently into his jacket pocket and pulled out the velvet box from Spencer & James. He passed it to Rachel. She opened it. Inside, the light sparkled off a perfectly cut blue stone set into a silver band. The light caught the stone and it sparkled suddenly. Rachel caught her breath, stunned momentarily by the beauty of the ring.

_Now! Now!_ The voice in Jordan's head screamed at him, almost daring him to defy it. _Come on! There's no turning back now!_

Bypassing Jordan's brain, and especially his trembling backbone, Jordan's mouth took control.

"Will you marry me, Rachel?"

Rachel's eyes flicked from the ring to Jordan. She was momentarily deprived of all speech.

_That's it,_ the voice sighed. _You've done your part. Well done, by the way. Nicely handled._

"Of course I will, Jordan!" Rachel flung her arms around Jordan's neck and kissed him, a gesture returned with enormous relief from Jordan. They remained in that position for five minutes before Rachel came up for air.

"So now what do we do? I'm inexperienced in doing this." Now that he had finally managed to overcome his nervousness, Jordan had regained his healthy sense of humour.

"I think standard procedure," replied Rachel, still smiling as widely as she had done for a long time, "is for me to put the ring on, then for us to go and tell people what just happened." She plucked the ring out of the box and slipped it onto her finger. It fit beautifully.

"It suits you," he said, switching to his sincere smile. "Mr Spencer and Mr James are artists."

"Oh, aren't they just?" Rachel marvelled at the beauty of the ring for a few more seconds, then tore her gaze away. "Shall we?"

"Yes, why not." They stood up together and, after another lengthy kiss, went outside, where the sun was just visible above the horizon. He glanced over at them and smiled, before settling down below the horizon for the night.

* * *

Brittany sighed loudly as she put down the phone. She didn't mind the calls so much now that people had started actually using what she told them. But it was Sunday, and she had been hoping for a quiet day. She looked at the clock-calendar on her desk. It showed seven o'clock in the evening on 28 April. Time to go home, she thought. I'm starving.

The phone rang. That'd be right, wouldn't it, thought Brittany. Just my luck.

She picked up the phone. "Hello. Yes, Rach. Celebrating what?" She paused as Rachel explained what had just happened. "You got engaged? That's great! Congratulations! Where are you?" Another pause. "I'll meet you there in five, then." She tossed the phone down, grabbed her coat and ran out the door before the phone could ring again.

* * *

By half past seven Jordan, Rachel, Maddy and Brittany were sitting in the restaurant discussing the events of the day and admiring the ring that now glinted on Rachel's finger. Maddy and Brittany both agreed that the jewellers were artists indeed. The champagne had already been poured, but they had decided to keep it light in that department.

"I thought I might find you here," said a voice behind them. "I hope you liked the ring?"

The four of them looked up. Mr Spencer was standing behind them, wearing a black suit, a blue tie that matched the stone in Rachel's ring exactly, and a very wide smile.

"Very much so, Mr Spencer," replied Rachel, also smiling. "You and Mr James are artists."

"Ah, we mustn't take all the credit," replied Mr Spencer with a smile. "Give a nice ring to someone who it doesn't suit, and it's wasted. You have to have the right ring for the right person, and I have to say I don't think it could possibly suit anyone better than it suits you."

Rachel smiled. "Professional approval, then."

"Ah, well, we might be a bit biased because we made the ring," said Mr James, appearing next to Mr Spencer, "but yes, I think so."

Mr Spencer and Mr James declined the offer of a drink, saying they had to get back to the store. The next person to show up was the Postal Inspector, but he wasn't the last. Within a few hours, the entire town seemed to know that Jordan and Rachel had just got engaged, and the entire town – although not all together – had appeared in the restaurant to congratulate them and admire the handiwork of Mr Spencer and Mr James. Finally, the four of them finished their dinner and were able to leave the restaurant. By this time, it was close to eleven, and the restaurant was empty except for the four of them and the staff. At least, that's what they thought.

Outside, the four of them stood talking for a minute, and were just preparing to leave when a completely unexpected but thoroughly familiar voice came out of the shadows and addressed them.

"Well, it seems that congratulations are in order."

Taken by surprise again, the four of them turned in the direction of the voice. Standing against the wall was a tall man. He was almost invisible in the shadows, but that was probably because he was wearing a black coat over a black suit and tie, with a black hat perched on his head and black boots covering black socks on his feet. As was their usual reaction whenever they saw this man, the four of them stood there with their mouths open. The man smiled and shook his head.

"I never seem to get much of a welcome from you four. All I said was 'congratulations'."

"Er... thanks," was all Rachel could manage. The man smiled.

"I suppose that'll have to do. A word of advice, though – plan your wedding yourselves. Wedding planners might involve less work, but you'll never be happy with the results." The man straightened his tie, and his coat sleeve fell back to show a plain silver ring on his finger. "I should know."


	4. Silver, Part 1

**4 – Silver, Part 1: August 2024**

It was the sort of town where the stores were all locally owned and bore the names of the proprietors over the door, the sort of town where the man whose name was over the door knew everyone in the town by name, the sort of town where you were assured of a nice smile and a good deal whenever you walked into a store. Plus, it saved you having to think up a name if you started up a business here. And most often you'd go into business with someone else, which is why the list of stores to visit on Rachel's piece of paper had a lot of names and ampersands on it and not a lot else. Spencer & James (the jewellers), Brown & Brown (the tailors), Wakefield & Christ (the church, who thought they were funny but weren't, really), Smith & Watson (the printers), Mony & Scott (the bakers) and a fair few others. There was a lot to do, Rachel knew that, but she also knew that the first of September was looming fast, so this really couldn't be put off any longer. She walked up to Spencer & James and pushed the door open.

Mr Spencer was behind the counter, with his glasses on, examining a plain silver ring through his magnifying glass. He looked up as the bell over the door tinkled and smiled as he saw Rachel.

"Ah, Rachel, I was wondering when we might see you. You, of course, are looking for a ring." It was not a question, and therefore required no answer. "I took the liberty of ordering this one in... I thought it was the sort of thing you might take to." He handed her the ring that he had been examining. It caught the light as he passed it over, and it was so shiny that she blinked involuntarily a few times. She turned it over in her hand a few times.

"It's very nice, Mr Spencer, but a little too plain, if you know what I mean."

"Ah yes, I thought you might say something like that." He took the ring back from her and placed it back into its box. "We also have this one, which might be more suitable." He pulled a second box, identical to the other, out from under the counter and passed it to Rachel, who opened it. Inside was another silver ring, similar to the other one but slightly wider and with some nice patterning adorning it. Rachel smiled.

"Ah, yes, I much prefer that. I'll take that one."

"Excellent."

* * *

Rachel didn't like Brown & Brown very much. Mr Brown was a nice man, mind, but the store always had that disconcerting mothball smell about it. They were, however, the oldest and best tailors in the town, so Rachel was willing to put up with the smell just this once. She pushed the door open. Mr Brown was busily measuring the Postal Inspector for a suit when she entered. Both men looked up and smiled.

"Ah, Rachel... take a seat, will you? I'll be with you in a minute," said Mr Brown.

"I just came to pick up Jordan's suit and my dress, Mr Brown."

"Oh, of course... Paula?" he called over his shoulder. "Rachel's here to pick up the suit and dress. Can you get them for her?"

"Yes, of course, David, and you don't have to shout," replied Mrs Brown, appearing from the back room. She smiled at Rachel. "The dress is ready to go, Rachel, but the suit needs a bit more work done on it. It'll be done tomorrow... can you pick it up then?"

"No, I'm afraid I'm going to visit my mother tomorrow, Mrs Brown," replied Rachel. "She's coming to stay with us for two weeks, and going back shortly after the wedding."

"I'll pop in tomorrow and pick it up if you like, Rachel," said the Postal Inspector unexpectedly. "Jordan will be at work tomorrow; I can pass it on to him."

"Oh, would you, Mr Munroe? Thank you so much."

"It's no bother," replied Postal Inspector Munroe. "Thank you, Mr Brown. I shall see you tomorrow." He started out the door, but turned in the doorway. "Oh, Rachel, would you ask Jordan to come in early if possible tomorrow? The sorting office has been one man short for a few days now, and mail does tend to build up."

"Of course, Mr Munroe." The Postal Inspector smiled at her and left. "Now, Mrs Brown, about this dress..."

"Oh yes," Mrs Brown said, and hurried into the back room. She emerged a minute later carrying a beautiful white dress. It was one of those things that you're not sure how it's possible to make it look so white, seeing as there was only so many times you could bleach a garment. Rachel was enraptured.

"Oh, very nice," was all she could manage. Mrs Brown smiled.

"This sort of dress does normally have this effect on people. Shall I help you get it out to your car?"

"I would appreciate it, Mrs Brown. It's just outside." The two women together managed to get the dress out to the car without trailing it on the ground.

Mr Brown came outside as well, holding a bridal veil. "And take this as well, with our compliments," he said, handing the veil to Rachel.

"I couldn't do that!" Rachel exclaimed, rummaging around in her handbag for her chequebook to pay for the dress and suit. The tailors waved her protest away.

"We are quite happy to oblige. It's been a rather long time since someone last got married in this town – they mostly go to the city and get married there," said Mr Brown.

"Well, if you insist..." said Rachel, still sounding dubious as she wrote the cheque out and handed it to Mr Brown.

"We do, Rachel," replied Mrs Brown. "We're so happy for you and Jordan. You know," she added as an afterthought, "you never told us where you went on that six-month holiday back in 2017."

No," Rachel smiled. "I didn't, did I?"

* * *

The smell of fresh bread from Mony & Scott was a welcome relief to Rachel after the mothball smell of Brown & Brown. The bakery was almost unique in this town in that there wasn't anyone named Scott working there. There had been, but apparently he had left town. So now, although the big sign over the door still read Mony & Scott, the smaller one in the window simply said _Miss Ann T. Mony, baker – fresh bread and pastry for every occasion_, which wasn't exactly a simplification.

When Rachel went inside, she was startled by the sight that met her eyes. The entire store was covered in a strange white powdery substance, and Miss Mony was wielding the dustpan and brush fruitlessly. She looked up as Rachel came in.

"Oh, Rachel..." Miss Mony took off her hat and shook the white powder off it. Seeing Rachel's inquiring look, she continued, sounding more than a little embarrassed, "I dropped the flour."

After Rachel, despite Miss Mony's protests, had helped clean up the flour, she examined the rather magnificent sponge cake that Miss Mony had baked specially for this occasion. It was not a classically tiered wedding cake, by any means, nor did it have the two little figurines on the top like wedding cakes in the movies do, but it was nevertheless quite spectacular. If there was one thing more spectacular than the cake itself, though, it was the box that had taken the efforts of the full force of the school Industrial Technology staff to create, and it, too, was a work of art in itself.

Rachel, Miss Mony and her assistant managed to bundle the cake into the box and the box into the car, which was beginning to get rather full. She decided that she had better go home, but she did still need to go to the church, and that was fairly important. Well, at least she wasn't picking anything up from them... although you never could tell where Wakefield & Christ were involved.

* * *

The church was probably the second oldest building in the town – probably. Nobody was quite sure. The Post Office was definitely older than it, though. In any case, that didn't make Rachel any more happy about having to go in. But, she sighed in her mind, this was just about the most important part of her trip into town today – they needed a preacher, and Reverend Wakefield, despite his... peculiarities, shall we say... was one of the best in the business.

The door was closed. Rachel groaned inwardly – the church was open, she could tell, but unless the door was standing open it was impossible to enter the church quietly. She turned the polished knob and opened the door slowly.

Creak. Loud as anything. It was unavoidable. Not because the door itself squeaked, oh no... that would be too mainstream for Reverend Wakefield.

The reverend hurried out from the vestry wearing a dark grey suit, black shirt, white clerical collar and a very large smile.

"You know, reverend," said Rachel, "most people buy those little electric door buzzers so that a chime or something plays when the door opens."

"Ah yes, Miss Rachel," replied the reverend, his smile not wavering, "but why do that when you can make it creak when the door opens instead? So much more natural."

"You, my dear reverend, are crazy," Rachel didn't say. That was not something you said to Reverend Wakefield when he was smiling like that. What she said instead was, "Of course, reverend."

The reverend's smile widened, in so far as that was still possible. "So, Miss Rachel, what can I do for you?"

That was another of Reverend Wakefield's odd habits. He perpetually addressed Rachel – and indeed, the majority of the women in the town – as "Miss", and using their first names, not their last names. Miss Rachel, Miss Brittany, Miss Maddy, Miss Ann, Miss Taylah and the like. If he didn't know the woman's name, he would do the best he could – for instance, the last time Rachel's mother had been visiting them, he had addressed her as "Miss Rachel's mother". And the man was amazing at remembering names. Last year, Rachel's old friend Grace – who had moved to the city when she was about ten – came to town for a few days, and the reverend was the only person who didn't have to ask her name.

"I was hoping, reverend, that you would be kind enough to perform a wedding ceremony for Jordan and I."

"Well of course," the reverend replied, still smiling. "If you would be kind enough to follow me into the vestry, I shall write down the details."

Despite his uncanny skill at remembering names, Rachel thought as she followed the reverend into the vestry, the reverend was terrible at remembering events that he was invited to attend. This was why he wrote clerical events in the big book in the vestry, and personal events in the notebook in his pocket. The Post Office had sent him a parcel of their notebooks gratis after he forgot to attend the Postmaster's thirtieth wedding anniversary.

"Now, Miss Rachel," the reverend mused as he pulled a pen out of his desk drawer, "the date and time of your wedding would be..."

"The first of September," replied Rachel, "at half past one." The reverend wrote this into his book carefully.

"And where will you be having the wedding?"

"The park." The reverend added this.

"Anything else I should know?"

Rachel thought on this for a second. "Miss Mony's sponge cake for dessert?"


	5. Silver, Part 2

**5: Silver, Part 2 – September 2024**

The tradition, when a couple has just gotten married, is for them to tie something to the back of the car, usually old shoes. Jordan and Rachel, who had always thought that this seemed to be a strange thing to do, reasoned that if they were to tie shoes to the back of the car, they would have seen much better days by the time they made it home, and this was a terrible waste of a good pair or two of shoes. They were not traditionalists, by any means, and neither was Reverend Wakefield. It had not taken very much convincing to get him to make the ceremony, in his own words, "a little less mundane".

The cake had been magnificent, as magnificent in taste as in looks. Probably the entire town turned out for the wedding. Maddy and Brittany as bridesmaids, Postal Inspector Munroe as the best man (primarily because Jordan's brother lived in Moscow and his father in Dublin) and just about everyone else. Rachel even thought she had glimpsed, very briefly, a rather familiar-looking tall figure clad entirely in black.

"Hmm?" she murmured, aware that she had missed something whilst consumed in memories.

"I said, a penny for your thoughts," repeated Jordan, who was sitting next to her, concentrating on not driving over snakes.

"Oh, I'm just consumed in memories, that's all," replied Rachel, smiling. "And thoughts of what's to come."

"Is that so?" Jordan steered gently to the right to avoid another snake. "I hope your thoughts of what's to come aren't saying that marrying me was a bad idea."

Rachel smiled vaguely. "No, quite the opposite."

They were silent as they continued towards the menacing shape of the volcano, both now reliving the first few hours of the rest of their lives.

* * *

One thirty, they had agreed. Why then? Well, it was all to do with the sun. After living in the desert for nearly ten years, you got to like the sun. A lot. He got to like you as well. So Rachel and Jordan had decided to invite him to their wedding, by timing it so that it wasn't too early in the morning, when the sun would be blocked by the Post Office on the other side of the road, and not too late in the afternoon, when the trees in the park would get in the way. One thirty would allow the sun to attend the wedding.

The morning of the first of September was as good a day as they could possibly have hoped for. Rachel (who, at her mother's insistence, had stayed in town with Brittany overnight) awoke to the sight of a crystal blue sky and the smell of bacon cooking... and when she looked up towards the sun she could have sworn he gave her a wink and a brief salute.

* * *

Ah, the dress. You had to hand it to Mr and Mrs Brown – they were the best in the business. And the suit as well – very nice. The cake had melted slightly, but was probably made all the more tasty for this – at least, that was the reverend's opinion, and he knew a fair bit about cakes.

Having cut a lot of the traditional drivel from the service, the service itself was quite quick. Jordan had asked the reverend about that beforehand, and he had said he had kept the service to a minimum – as he said, "just the do you and don't you".

Do you, don't you. Ring. Kiss. Applause. The service was over within five minutes. Reverend Wakefield prided himself on his "interesting" services. There was only so much you could cut from a wedding service, but the reverend was happy with his effort... and as he had said to "no-longer-Miss Rachel" afterwards, when you get smiles and applause after a service rather than sombre faces and a scraping of chairs, you must have done all right.

And then there was the tall man. Heaven knew who he was, but he had seemed to know the reverend. All in black, too... and it wasn't exactly a cool day. The reverend was wearing a black shirt, and he was rather warm. Still, the man had been polite enough when he complimented the reverend on his service. A friend of Jordan and Rachel's, the reverend had guessed. But that didn't matter all that much anyway.

* * *

Granted, the suit was very sharp – much sharper and Jordan could have shaved with it – but it was dark grey. Sharp, sombre, but not very well ventilated, as he had complained to Rachel during the reception.

"I'm sorry, Jordan," she had sighed in reply, "but Mr Brown insisted, oh, how he insisted... I did try to talk him into something lighter."

"Never mind, never mind," he replied with a smile, "I've got nothing to complain about."

* * *

By the time Rachel had returned to the here and now, Jordan had dodged the last of the snakes and had parked inside the volcano compound, which was always oddly free of snakes. Their eyes met as the two of them got out of the car, before Jordan turned to shut the gate. It was a moment before he realised that the gate had already been closed behind them.

"I do apologise for my intrusion," said the man in black, turning back to Jordan and Rachel after latching the gate closed, "but I didn't get a chance to congratulate you in town." He paused, observing their faces, and smiled. "Please don't let me ruin the... ah... romance, shall we say?... I shall not stay long."

Jordan licked his lips and glanced at Rachel. They shared the look that usually passed between them whenever they bumped into this man – the one of a combination of surprise, shock and bewilderment.

"I brought you something," the man continued, removing a photo frame from the inside pocket of his coat. "I do hope it is not unwelcome." He gave the frame to Jordan, who looked down at it with interest.

In the frame was a picture of something that Jordan was unsure whether he'd actually ever see again. In the foreground was a largish round-domed building. A path made of stained wooden planks led down to a small wooden dock, beside which was a ship, submerged in the crystal blue water up to its masts.

"How did -" Jordan looked up at the man, who was not there any more. He looked at Rachel, who had also been examining the photo, and she shrugged. Jordan turned the frame over slowly. On the back was a short sentence in small, neat writing that, just like the man himself, seemed vaguely familiar.

_Don't ask; it gets complicated._

* * *

Brittany sank down into her armchair in the front room with a cup of coffee, the newspaper and a sigh. Well, that was that. Ring, kiss. Not things that were usually applauded individually, but when in the context of a wedding it was a completely different story.

There was a knock on the door. Brittany recognised the knock – it was the knock of someone who did not like waiting, someone who was stopping herself, with difficulty, from simply opening the door and coming in unannounced and even more uninvited.

"Come in, Maddy," called Brittany, and the door opened to reveal Maddy, rain dripping from her wide-brimmed hat.

"How do you do that?" asked Maddy, removing her hat and shaking it dry. "It really is rather creepy, you know."

Brittany smiled. "It's just something you pick up on. Different people have different knocks. You learn to recognise them after a while."

Maddy made no reply, instead just hanging her hat and raincoat up on one of the hooks and dropping into the chair opposite Brittany.

"I just brought around some of the photos from the wedding," she said, extracting a largish envelope from her jacket pocket and passing it to Brittany. "Mr Spooner, although he is a fantastic printer, is not such a great photographer, and a few of these need a bit of a touch-up. I thought you might be able to help him out."

Brittany slit the envelope open and pulled out the photos, having a quick flick through them as she did so. "I'll see what I can do," she replied eventually. "No promises, though. And it won't be until some time next week... the CRC General Meeting is this week, and I've got to go up to the city for that... that's the Collective Rural Councils," she translated, upon seeing the puzzled look on Maddy's face.

"You mean, like a council of councils?"

"Sort of."

Maddy paused, then decided that she would rather treasure her ignorance. "Next week will be fine, there's no hurry."

Brittany slid the photos back into the envelope and put them on the table beside the chair. "Have you been to see the happy couple this morning?"

"No."

"Good, I'm not sure it would be a good idea to disturb them... not less than three or four days after their wedding, if you know what I mean?"

Maddy smiled. "Oh yes... I think I take your point."

* * *

The nicest thing about being married, Jordan realised on his way to the Post Office for his first day back after the wedding, was that it hadn't changed anything... well, barely anything. He had been worried that marriage might change things for him and Rachel, but so far (granted, a week wasn't really long enough to deduce what the full implications of married life would be, but it was a good start) it was looking like things weren't going to change.

He voiced these discoveries to his colleagues over lunch. None of the other sorting staff were married, but the Postmaster (who had been married for over thirty years and therefore must know what he was talking about) had found it necessary to give Jordan some advice.

"Take my word for it," the Postmaster had said, "so long as you go about it the right way, marriage shouldn't change you much at all. Parenthood... now that's the big one. But," he added after a moment's consideration, "you and Rachel would almost certainly be fine if you decided to have kids."

"Expert advice," Postal Inspector Munroe had added after the Postmaster had wandered off to the dead letter office. "If you know what's good for you, you'll listen to him." Jordan had always prided himself on knowing what was good for him, so he assured the Postal Inspector that he was hanging onto every word.

"Is that something you've thought about?" asked Trevor, after the Postal Inspector hurried off to make sure the Postmaster didn't mess the dead letter office up too much. "Parenthood, I mean."

Jordan paused. To be quite honest, parenthood had been pushed into his thoughts by a stirring memory of one conversation that he and Rachel had had on Riven about a dream that Rachel had had, but he couldn't exactly tell the staff about that. What he actually said was, "Not really..."

"Well, it might be worth thinking about," said Trevor, who had not noticed the hesitation. "You and Rachel would make good parents, in my opinion. Not that I'd know about that, or anything." The general consensus from the table was that Jordan and Rachel would make good parents, and Jordan filed this under "useful to remember".

Well, I'm married, he thought as he drove home that evening. I'm married to the most wonderful person I could have hoped for. It's all worked out beautifully. So why do I still feel worried? I suppose it must just be natural worry... or stress... or something...

It was about at this point that the voice in his head that always saw fit to annoy him at times like this chimed in with something that summed up his worrying.

_Don't ask. It gets complicated._

"So what do you expect me to do?" muttered Jordan. As annoying as the voice was, it did often have good advice.

_Just go with it. You'll be surprised._

Jordan smiled to himself. "We'll see, my friend. We'll see."


	6. Peanut

**6 – Peanut: September 2026**

Anniversaries were always fun. Whether they were 35 years (the Postmaster, 15 May) or two (Jordan and Rachel, 1 September), they were always fun. In the case of Jordan and Rachel, they had lunch in town, but that was all anyone saw of them on the first of September. They preferred to spend their anniversary by themselves, it seemed.

All that was nearly three weeks ago now, and very few people had seen hide or hair of Jordan. He'd only been at the Post Office briefly, once or twice to the grocery store and that was it. Rachel was seen even less. Maddy was smart enough to realise that something was going on, so she decided to drop by Brittany's office and see what she thought.

Brittany was reading the most recent proposal that had been put forth by one of her fellow councillors – one with a reputation for being the most boring man on council. To date, Brittany was the only councillor who had managed to stay awake through one of his speeches, and on that note all of his proposals were now being sent to her... and she was not enjoying it. When Maddy came into the office, Brittany looked up, and the look of irritated boredom on her face changed to some sort of tired relief.

"Maddy... you're a sight for sore eyes. Have a seat... I need to go get a coffee."

Maddy sat down as Brittany left the office. She returned a few minutes later holding a half full cup of coffee and looking all the better for the other half that she had already drunk.

"Someone needs to teach this man the concept of summarising," commented Maddy, who had been reading the proposal on Brittany's desk.

"Tell me about it," sighed Brittany. "Anything he puts forward comes straight to me and I have to do the summarising. All because I stayed awake through one of his speeches back when I was newer to the council."

"Why did you bother?" asked Maddy, then realised she had said it out loud. "I mean, was there anything interesting in it?"

"Underneath all the meaningless drivel... sort of. But he could have made his point with a single sentence, which is what I did, which is why I now get all his three-page proposals and summarise them to two paragraphs before sending them off to the council." Brittany sank down into her chair, read the last paragraph of the document and turned to her keyboard. "Just give me a minute, Maddy." She paused for a second, contemplating, then her fingers danced across the keyboard for a minute or two and the printer spat out a single piece of paper, half covered in text. Brittany pulled it from the printer tray, scanned it with a glance and dropped it in her out-tray.

"Now that that's out of the way, what can I do for you?"

"I was just thinking that Jordan and Rachel should have recovered from any... hangovers they might have had after their anniversary by now, but I still haven't heard from them. Do you think I should go and see them?"

"Mightn't be a bad idea," mused Brittany. "Hold on and I'll come with you. Just let me take care of this..." She grabbed the small pile of documents from her in-try and scanned them quickly, then tossed one back into the tray, signed the rest quickly and tossed them in the out-tray.

"Right then," she said, downing the rest of her coffee in one and standing up, "shall we go?"

* * *

Jordan was in the loungeroom reading the paper when Maddy and Brittany arrived. He looked rather surprised to see them, and there was something rather defensive about his demeanour.

"Jordan," asked Brittany after Jordan had talked himself out, "you look like you've been expecting a heart attack all day, you're talking at a hundred miles an hour and you have so far managed to ward off all questions that we have asked that have the meaning 'How is Rachel?' Seriously, Jordan, what's going on?"

Jordan paused. There was nothing to gain from not saying anything, he supposed.

"Ask Rach... she'll be able to tell you. She's in the kitchen."

Brittany got to her feet and went into the kitchen. On the table was a largish bowl containing what looked like salted peanuts and a tall glass half full of lemon lime and bitters. Rachel herself was sitting at the table reading a magazine. She looked up as Brittany came in and hurriedly dropped a tea towel on top of the magazine, trying her best to look nonchalant and failing.

"Morning, Rach," said Brittany, acting as if she hadn't noticed anything suspicious. "How have you been these last few weeks?"

"Oh, I've been all right," said Rachel, forcing a smile and concealing a nervous twitch that was just audible in her voice. "Who are – I mean, how are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you," said Brittany, smiling, "but I'm not sure you are being entirely straight with me, to be honest."

"I'm perfectly healthy," replied Rachel defensively, plucking a peanut from the bowl and popping it into her mouth.

"I never said you weren't." Brittany flicked her eyes around the kitchen and her eyes fell on another magazine that was concealed even worse than the one under the tea towel. From where she was, Brittany could just read one word of the title, and it rather confirmed her suspicions. She looked back at Rachel, who was eating more of the peanuts.

"Rach, I'm a councillor. It's my job to add two and two and somehow get five. I fill in the missing numbers with my eyes, and suddenly everyone believes that we are actually paying enough money to fix the roads properly. Now what I see here is Jordan out there and you in here, both looking very defensive, one magazine over there not very well hidden behind the kettle and one under that tea towel, and a bowl of peanuts. These might not be council budget figures, but I can still add them up, and the result says that in about nine months you and Jordan are going to have another mouth to feed around this house." Brittany stopped and watched Rachel with a faint smile, who had stopped eating peanuts and was now looking at Brittany. After a moment, a smile broke through on Rachel's face... a real smile this time.

"There's no fooling you, that's for sure, Brittany," she laughed. "Yes, you have surmised correctly. I am expecting. We weren't sure until yesterday, when the morning sickness started, so we thought we might surprise you. But you surprised us instead."

"Well, it's good news," Brittany said, allowing her smile to widen. "I'm sure you two will make excellent parents."

It was probably about then that Maddy and Jordan entered the kitchen. Jordan guessed from the smiles all round that Brittany had worked out what was going on. Maddy, who still had not caught on, was quickly filled in by Brittany, who then proceeded to make coffee for everyone.

"Just out of curiosity," Brittany asked after a minute, "how long were you two going to attempt to keep us in the dark for?"

Jordan and Rachel shared a smile, before Jordan answered. "As long as we thought we could get away with, Brittany."

* * *

Births in small towns are held in high regard. Rachel had assured Maddy and Brittany that she wasn't more than two or three weeks pregnant, so there wouldn't be an extra mouth to feed until about June. Brittany, of course, saw fit to comment that June was a good month to be born in. Maddy, possibly not grasping the full implications of "not more than two or three weeks pregnant", asked if the anticipated arrival was a boy or a girl.

"Perhaps a better question would be," Brittany cut in after seeing the incredulous look that passed between Jordan and Rachel here, "are you hoping for a boy or a girl?"

Another glance passed between Jordan and Rachel, before they both replied at the same time.

"Well, I'd prefer a girl," was Rachel's reply.

"It doesn't really bother me," was Jordan's reply.

Brittany, gifted as she was in the talent of being able to listen to two people at the same time, heard both of these. Maddy, who had no such gift, had to ask them to repeat this.

* * *

The phone rang, and Reverend Wakefield woke with a start. He'd fallen asleep in the vestry again. How did he manage to do that?

He groped around for the phone. He found first a pen, then a banana, and finally a bible before he found the phone and picked it up.

"Wakefield and Christ. Yes, Miss Rachel. Of course. June? It's the middle of September. You are telling me this now why, exactly?" Pause. "Fair enough. God bless you. Goodbye." He put the phone down and flicked on the desk lamp. Pulling the big book towards him, he wrote all this in carefully, then went back to sleep.

* * *

People who live in small desert towns are the only people who can really understand the difference between towns and cities. If there was one person who most definitely did not, it was Mr Fergus, proprietor of the small, run-down shop selling portable extensions to houses. Most of the people who ran businesses on Forty-Second Avenue had little grasp of anything outside their tinny little shops and the apartments above (with the exception of the fact that each one of them could recite the names and addresses of all the brothels in this part of the city), but Fergus was the worst of them. He was the sort of person who, when the phone rings, has a spit on the floor first so that whoever is on the other end of the phone could understand what he was saying. That was good for business.

The phone rang. Fergus had a spit on the floor, then answered it.

"Fergus' Extensions and Renovations, what can we do for you?" he said, in his speaking-to-a-potential-customer voice.

"Ah, yes, hello," said a young woman on the other end of the phone, "I wanted to enquire about the cost of adding a small extension to our house."

All right... nice voice. Sounds fairly young, but said "our house". Probably married or engaged. Almost certainly not the type for small talk.

"And what purpose would that be for?"

"Well, our house is a little small, and now that I'm expecting it would make it a lot easier if we had a bit of extra space."

All right... almost certainly has a partner of some description. Said "expecting" rather than "pregnant"... could be dealing with someone of higher class here. Why are they calling me, then? Everyone knows I'm not high class.

"And this would be a permanent extension, presumably?"

The answer was in the affirmative, so Fergus pulled his battered old book out from under the counter and flipped it open to the front page, where his standard list of prices was drawn up in a rough table.

"Well, we can do thirty by thirty for a grand, including labour, or fifteen by fifteen for seven fifty." Again he listened. "Tell you what, we'll send you a brochure and an order form. Can I just grab your address?" He scribbled the address down on a bit of paper. "All right. Yes. Thank you. Goodbye." He put the phone down and rummaged under the counter for an envelope. They were all getting a bit grubby, but still... he shouldn't turn down good business.

* * *

Rachel sank down onto the couch. It had been rather a long day. Letter from her mother, visit from Maddy and Brittany, then she had to go into town and use the phones at the Post Office to get a hold of some people from the city to add an extension to the house. Jordan had floated out from the sorting office briefly to give her a bit of advice about the extension, but still... Then she had to do the groceries, and somehow the entire town now knew that she was expecting... That was probably Maddy's doing, mind you.

She pulled the small bowl of peanuts towards her and popped another into her mouth. Addictive things, these salted peanuts, but that was probably just the cravings...

Oh yes, the letter from Mum, she suddenly remembered. What did I do with it? I didn't read it fully...

Eventually she found the letter, lying on the bedside table. How it got in there was anyone's guess, really. Now, what has my dear mother got to say this week...

The door opened with a click and Jordan came in. He looked rather dishevelled, and there was a letter on his hat.

"I've never seen the Post Office so busy!" he exclaimed as he came inside.

"It looked all right when I left," Rachel volunteered through a mouthful of peanuts.

"Oh, well, it was all right in the morning," Jordan sighed, sinking down onto the couch next to Rachel, "but you should have seen it this afternoon."

"Does that have something to do with why there's a letter on your hat?"

Jordan raised his eyebrows and plucked the letter off his hat. "Probably. Exactly how it got there I've no idea. That, however, is unimportant. How are you?"

Rachel swallowed the peanuts. "Exhausted." She put her head on his shoulder, and he put his arm around her.

"It'll be worth it, though, won't it?"

Rachel smiled. "I certainly hope so."


	7. Arrival

**7 – Arrival: June 2027**

The couch, Jordan had discovered, was not the world's best place to sleep, really. It was comfortable enough for sitting on, but when you had to sleep on it, it really wasn't all that much good.

He'd been sleeping on the couch for a while now. Rachel was over eight months pregnant, and the long and short was that if she rolled over in the night he was liable to get squashed.

He'd lost track of time a bit, having not got much sleep recently, so when Brittany tapped on the door at half past seven he thought it might as well have been half past four.

"How is Rachel?" Brittany murmured as she came inside, closed the door quietly behind her and sat down on the couch.

"Not bad, all things considered," Jordan groaned. "How am I is a better question. I haven't slept properly for days. I was still awake at three this morning. I hate it when there's two three o'clocks in the same day."

"You or Rach would be more than welcome to come and stay with me, you know. Come into the kitchen; I'll make some coffee."

The two of them went into the kitchen and closed the door behind them. Jordan sank down into a chair with a sigh, before glancing at the clock, realising that it was, indeed, half past seven, and deciding to have breakfast.

"I should probably not come and stay with you, Brittany; I wouldn't be daft enough to leave Rach alone out here when she's over eight months along. She could go and stay with you, though... you'd have to ask her whether she thought that was a good idea," sighed Jordan after he'd had a mouthful of the miracle-working coffee that was pushed in front of him by Brittany.

"Ask me what?" Rachel had silently opened the door behind them and was standing in the doorway, for a certain value of 'in'. "I smell coffee."

"Jordan, who apparently believes that being up until three and then being woken by me at half past seven is not a healthy way to live, has told me to ask whether you should come and stay with me for a while," said Brittany, pouring another mug of coffee and putting it in front of Rachel.

Rachel looked over at Jordan, who was quietly attempting to eat a bowl of cornflakes and making a lot of mess.

"That might be a good idea." She looked at Jordan again, still struggling with his cornflakes. "Careful, dear, some of it's getting in your mouth."

* * *

Once Rachel had moved temporarily in with Brittany, she started taking as much time as she could off, which was not hard because the council wasn't doing much at the moment, whilst Jordan went tentatively back to the Post Office. It was difficult for him to concentrate, mind you, but he did his best to take his mind off things, at least until the time came when he'd have a lot to concentrate on.

As it turned out, he didn't have all that long to wait.

* * *

The fifteenth of June started out as a rather normal day for Jordan, Rachel, Maddy and Brittany... possibly even too normal for comfort. Jordan got up at eight, had breakfast and went into town. Rachel woke at half past seven to a vague cramp, but she was used to that. Brittany cooked breakfast, since it was Wednesday. And Maddy, who had the day off, wandered down to the theatre. The day stayed normal until about half past ten, when Rachel was sitting in Brittany's front room doing the crossword in the paper and was struck by a sudden pain which she guessed after it repeated itself five minutes later was not a cramp. She found the energy to call to Brittany, who read the tone of the shout correctly and came downstairs in crisis management mode. Ten minutes later, Brittany was in the lobby of St John's Hospital, rummaging through her pockets for change for the phone.

Eventually she found the right amount, pushed the coins into the phone and dialled what she hoped was the Post Office. She was fortunate enough to get the number right first time.

"Get me the sorting office, quickly," she said into the phone.

* * *

It was almost shaping up to be a regular day in the sorting office, and then something very strange happened. A sharp ringing filled the air, coming from a dust-covered object sitting on the corner table, which was only just recognisable as being a phone.

"How long has it been since that last rung?" Lyn asked the room in general.

"I lost count," replied Trevor, before picking up the dusty handset.

"Sorting office. Yes, that's right. He is. Who's calling, please?" There was a brief pause. "Ah, Brittany, nice to hear from you."

It was about at that point that Jordan dropped a large pile of letters on the floor. The entire office was still, listening to Trevor.

"Yes, of course. No," Trevor glanced over at Jordan, "he appears to have frozen in mid-sort. Yes. Yes, of course. Bye." He put the phone down and turned to the frozen Jordan.

"Jordan. Jordan. _Jordan!_" Jordan snapped out of his trance suddenly. "Brittany would like you to come very quickly down to the hospital, where she will meet you in the lobby. Do you think you can manage that, or would you like me to drive you down there?"

"No, thank you, Trevor, I think I can manage," said Jordan, and darted out, leaving the sorting staff rather stunned.

* * *

Jordan and Maddy arrived at the hospital at what was so close to the same time that they practically bowled each other over on their way in the doors. Once they had both managed to get inside, they found Brittany, or rather Brittany found them, and they made for the waiting room in the maternity ward, where one of the nurses greeted them.

Apparently, the nurse said, Dr David and his team had been with Rachel for a while now, and it was anyone's guess how long they would be waiting. And so they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Or so it seemed. For Jordan, Maddy and Brittany it seemed like an eternity, and it probably did to Rachel as well, but in reality it was about seventy minutes before Dr David stuck his head in the door and smiled at Jordan.

"Would you like to come and meet your daughter now?"

* * *

A labour of nearly two hours seemed like an eternity to Rachel, but the moment when she and Jordan held their daughter for the first time was a longer eternity. God, the past nine months had been worth suffering.

Last month, they had worked out what they would call their daughter, who they knew would be a girl by that point. Rachel was fond of unusual names, but in this particular instance Jordan managed to talk her out of picking something... bizarre. Eventually they settled on Jane. It had a nice ring to it, according to Jordan.

* * *

And that was that, apparently. Jane was baptised by Reverend Wakefield and one of his "interesting" services in the next week, and then things were back to being as close to normal for Jordan and Rachel as they were going to get. For the moment, anyway.

Jane showed quite an appetite for whatever her mother could feed her in the first few weeks, before she started to sleep even more. The extension that Rachel had bought from some seedy looking bunch in the city proved to be very useful as a nursery and bedroom for Jane. All in all, life was good.

But it couldn't be long until something bizarre happened.


End file.
